Still, I don't want to hear more.
Don't want to know the details of someone's pain without their permission.
I move through the stacks, putting distance between myself and the conversation, and turn down another aisle.
The cozy reads section, based on all the holiday-themed covers and twinkling lights someone's strung up.
Maybe I'll pick up one book. Something light to read tonight when the darkness gets too heavy and sleep won't come.
I'm browsing the shelves, not really paying attention to where I'm walking, when someone crashes into me.
Books go flying. There's a yelp—high-pitched and startled—and my hands move on instinct, reaching out to steady whoever just collided with me.
My fingers close around soft shoulders, and then the scent hits me.
Oh.
Oh no.
Vanilla buttercream. That's the first thing that registers—rich and sweet and impossibly warm, like walking into a bakery where everything is fresh from the oven. But there's more underneath. Caramel, dark and sticky-sweet, mixing with something that smells like spun sugar at a carnival. And citrus—bright and clean, cutting through the sweetness like sunshine through clouds. Snow-kissed citrus, maybe, because there's a crispness to it that makes me think of winter mornings.
The scent is intoxicating.Overwhelming.It wraps around me like a physical thing, sinking into my lungs and making everything else fade into background noise.
Omega. This is an Omega's scent.
And it's the most perfect thing I've ever smelled in my entire life.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The words tumble out in a rush, breathless and flustered. "I wasn't watching where I was going, I was having an existential crisis about book budgets, and I just?—"
She looks up at me, and my heart does something complicated in my chest.
Beautiful. She's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with conventional standards and everything to do with the life radiating from her.
Honey-gold hair with those bright pumpkin-spice orange tips I caught a glimpse of earlier, wild and slightly messy in a way that looks intentional. Big eyes—some shade between blue and grey, wide and expressive and currently mortified. A face that's all soft curves and genuine emotion, the kind of face that can't hide what she's feeling even if she tried.
She's wearing an oversized cream sweater with some book pun on it, dark jeans that hug curves that make my mouth go dry, and she's looking at me like I'm either going to yell at her or spontaneously combust.
Reverie. This is Reverie. The girl with the infectious laugh and the dreams about Omega cafes and the past that left scars.
My cock twitches, completely inappropriate and poorly timed, and I have to force myself to focus on being a decent human being instead of whatever primal instinct is currently screaming at me to claim, protect, keep.
Down. Not the time. Absolutely not the time.
"Don't worry about it," I manage to say, surprised my voice comes out steady. I bend down to pick up the books she's dropped, needing to do something with my hands that isn't touching her.
Three books. All holiday romances based on the covers. All featuring Omegas as the main characters.
She was serious about those recommendations.
I straighten up, holding the books, and glance at the covers. "These weren't to your liking?"
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. Makes it tighter and looser at the same time, if that's even possible.
"Oh, no! They're amazing. I literally just spent twenty minutes on TikTok Live telling everyone to read them. I just—" She makes this gesture that's probably supposed to convey something but mainly just looks adorable. "I don't have book money like that yet. But I'm manifesting it."
She winks at me.
She actually winks, like we're sharing some private joke, and I have to physically stop myself from smiling like an idiot.
